Sensing you (Sensing Series Book 1) Read online

  "We haven't heard anything official yet, but she showed up here about three hours ago. She's been wandering around the garden, muttering about the dead flowers, and trying to get the hose to turn on. Of course, that was about as useful as cleaning up a flood with a tissue. Then she saw Errol heading this way and got mad as a hatter. Why she ever wanted to stake a claim on that man, I'll never know. He's as randy as a teenager!"

  Her arms flailed with the dose of comic relief. I smiled as I watched her, dressed in her fashionable T-shirt and shorts, with the ghastly floral couch that she loved so much behind her. Despite her anachronistic taste in furnishings, she refused to be stuck in a time warp when it came to her fashion sense. Apart from her straight hair, it was like looking at me in fifty years’ time. Slightly withered and weathered, but with a spark in her eye, nonetheless.

  "Some women go for the bad boys. I didn't even know she was sick."

  "Yeah, she went to the hospital two days ago with a bad chest infection. Darn humidity, breeds the bugs."

  "I'm sorry, Granny." I leaned down and gave her a gentle hug. She was so fragile now, I was always afraid of getting over enthusiastic and snapping something when I hugged her.

  "Me too, but it's a fact of life. We all have our time."

  Her words cut through my heart. My biggest fear verbalized. The thought of Granny leaving me was so painful I had trouble breathing. I loved her to bits. She was my home. She had been my grandmother, my mother and my best friend. My only friend, really. The one positive thing about this curse of mine is that I’d still be able to talk to her after she’d gone. But it wouldn’t be the same.

  "Veronica, you really need to let me teach you about your gift, honey. Life would be so much easier for you, if you were able to control it." Granny leaned forward, encasing my hands in her grasp. The love and concern she felt for me transferred through her touch, reaffirming what I’d lose when she was gone.

  I slid my hands into my lap, and cleared the lump from my throat. “We tried that, and you know how that worked out.”

  Ghost party. Ten o’clock. My place. Bring your nasty.

  “You will never find happiness until you embrace your true self, and be the person you’re meant to be.”

  My eyes dropped to the floor. Reigning in the need to shiver, I went back to the kitchenette to get some ingredients for dinner.

  “Is an omelette okay with you?”

  Granny huffed out a breath. “You’re as stubborn as a mule … Fine,” she waved her hand and dismissed the topic. “What about your living arrangements? I assume Felicity is having a night of drunken debauchery for her minions?”

  “You assume correctly, as per usual. You can say I told you so, I know you want to.”

  “Oh, darling. I’m not going to do that. You have the right to make your own choices. I’m more than aware that you don’t want to know anything about the future or being psychic, but they’re all part of who you are. I didn’t argue too much about your decision because I believed you needed to know this girl for a reason. But now’s the time to pull your finger out. It’s time to go, Big Brother style.”

  I huffed out a laugh. “You have such a way with words.” My hands got busy chopping spring onions and capsicum.

  “Seriously, honey. Do not let that girl play any more power games with you. You aren’t helping her by staying there.”

  “Why the heck would I want to help her at all?”

  “Because you are a decent human being under all that spit and sass.”

  “If I go home to find vomit or other bodily excrement anywhere near my stuff, she’ll find out just how indecent I can be.”

  The sound of the knife embedding itself into the chopping board echoed in the tiny space.

  “Prepare yourself. That’s all I have to say.”

  Her face was a grim reflection of her warning, before a conspiratorial smile swept away the darkness. The sudden swing made my neck tingle. I had to look down at what I was doing, because I sensed that I wasn’t going to like what was about to happen.

  "Okay, enough about that. So, you've met him, finally?" I felt her eyes drill into my face.

  The neck tingle became more of a burn. Damn. She knows.

  My hand jerked, and I dropped the knife before I sliced off my finger. I was sure my eyes were as wide as saucers, and I had to bite my lip to stop my mouth from falling open.

  "Who?" I replied, still looking at the veggies.

  I knew it was pointless to play dumb with Granny and yet, stupidly, I pursued this path. I absolutely did not want to talk about him. Peeking out from the corner of my eye, I caught Granny’s wide, satisfied grin. A groan slipped out. Both hands covered my eyes, forgetting that I’d been chopping up spicy vegetables. My hands flailed under the tap, splashing water everywhere in a desperate attempt to evict the capsaicin from my eyeballs.

  “Honey, you know you can’t shut everybody out forever. You don’t want to end up old and alone. I don’t want that for you. Imagine if I’d never fallen in love with your granddad. I wouldn’t have you. I shudder at the thought.”

  I refrained from squirming. I knew what she said was true, but I wanted to play ostrich for a bit longer. Just the thought of letting anyone in was terrifying. Was she joking? I’d spent my entire life, up to this point, feeling like an outcast—harassed, and plagued. So, my standard defence was to keep to myself. If I absolutely had to interact with people, I was damn good at being a bitch.

  My gut was telling me that I no longer had a choice. I couldn’t run from an intangible force like fate. But, I'd do my damnedest to hold it off for a while. After all, I didn’t know his name, or even where he worked. He knew nothing about me, apart from where I run occasionally.

  My brain slowly reconnected with the here and now. I realised I’d been staring straight through my granny while she watched patiently, a small smile on her lips and a furrow in her brow. I knew she was worried. I knew she had a fair idea of what was in store for my future. I didn't like to ask her about her predictions, because I really prefer not to know. That was my inner ostrich talking, though slightly muffled due to her head being in the sand.

  I shook my head, and blinked a few times. Granny lifted her hand and pointed over my shoulder. I turned my head around to look through the lace curtains, my whole body stiffening at what I saw. The little stalker. She was staring at me, hugging herself, and bouncing from one foot to the other, as if she was cold. Shit! Oh, but this girl knew where to find me anytime she wanted. Even with my head in the sand. Ugh! Why me?

  Single white female, indeed.

  Brad

  God, I loved these old buildings. Even the smell of decades piling up got me high. My biker boots thumped on the old wooden decking, as I smoothed a palm over the beautifully crafted, sandstone walls of Old Government House. It amazed me when I thought of the artistry created with only the most basic tools, and the hours of labour it required. I’d be designing my own structures soon enough, when I start uni. These buildings are my inspiration. Yes, they were styled from European influence, but the use of Australian timbers and natural rock … it converged the foreign with an Aussie flavour, and stamped these buildings as our own.

  I darted around the display in the foyer, while some tourists occupied the chick at reception. I hated that they’d closed off some of the house to the public. I’d have loved to get a squiz at the guts of the building.

  The security guard looked me up and down as I sauntered through the rooms. I tipped my chin up in his direction. “Hey mate. How’s it going?”

  The guard maintained his stern face, but gave me a nod. I felt his eyes glued to my back as I walked off. I suppose I looked a bit shady with my ripped jeans and faded T-shirt, carrying a biker jacket in one hand, and my helmet in the other.

  The original carpeting was long gone, replaced by a modern, Tree-of-Life patterned carpet. It was beautiful, but out of place in the grand old elegance. Just like me. I snickered to myself while I climbed the staircase.

  The William Robinson Art Gallery occupied the top floor. I loved that a painting of a bloke holding two fish won the most prestigious art award in Australia. But I came here to see my favourite painting by far— ‘Professor John Robinson and brother William'. It depicts the artist’s brother, wearing graduation robes over a suit, standing beside William in his pyjamas and bathrobe. Classic Aussie humour. He was absolutely taking the piss when he painted it.

  Striding down the hallway to my favourite room, I heard a throaty, feminine laugh. It sounded like it came from somewhere deep and genuine. It did things to me, drawing me toward it with an invisible string. I’d never get tired of looking at the painting, but when I scooted around the corner, the vision in front of the painting absolutely floored me.

  It was her … again. Fate was definitely taunting me, or giving me a sign … I couldn’t tell yet. I tried to breathe as I watched her having a good laugh at William Robinson’s depiction of the career structure in his family. Encasing those slim thighs, a figure hugging skirt went all the way up to her ribcage. A tiny little shirt covered her slim shoulders and pert tits. Her head was tipped back, causing that tumble of curls to reach all the way to her arse.

  When my eyes reached her feet, a laugh bubbled out of my throat. She was wearing runners. The conflicting style told me more about her than she probably realised. She was classy, but liked to let her hair down. She didn’t mind negating fashion in favour of comfort. She was disciplined and serious, but wanted more freedom and fun in her life. She was saying, ‘come hither, but if you do … I’ll run’.

  I’m going to catch you.

  My eyes travelled up to find her staring at me in fright. Shit. I’d scared her with my ogling. And the way I was dressed probably wasn’t helping. I took a st
ep back and gave her my friendliest smile. “Funny painting, isn’t it? It’s my favourite of his collection. ‘William and Josephine’ comes a close second. Which one do you like the best?”

  Her lips pursed and I watched her throat manoeuvre a swallow. She opened her mouth to draw in a laboured breath. She blinked, but didn’t speak. I’d struck her dumb, it seemed. I took another step back and shrugged. “It’s okay. It’s hard to choose. Let’s face it, they’re all good.”

  “Mmm.” The sound fought its way out into the air as if her throat had closed. She bent down and grabbed a handbag that I hadn’t even noticed, looping it onto her shoulder. A pair of black heels poked out the top. She turned and walked away from me, again.

  She was damn good at the Cinderella disappearing act. She even remembered to take her shoes with her. No worries. I didn’t need a glass slipper. I’d find her again. I could feel it in my gut and my balls. I smiled up at the Robinson brothers. They had helped make my day.

  Ronnie

  The imposing beauty of Old Government House filled my vision. I stood like a statue on the perfectly manicured lawn in front of the sandstone magnificence. My stomach tumbled, and the skin of my neck and arms prickled with fear and excitement. I loved old buildings. Old, haunted buildings. I just couldn’t bring myself to go inside them. I spent a great deal of time avoiding spirits, so the idea of putting myself in their path, on purpose, went against my instincts. Ridiculous, I know. But this was all about taking back control.

  I pouted my lips, and slowly breathed in and out through my nose, shaking my arms and legs in preparation for battle. Stepping into the building, I could almost feel the people who’d lived here generations before. It smelled of ingrained dust. Not the dirty kind. Just the irremovable layering of years in the pores of every surface. Rich burgundy shaded the walls, complementing the rich, dark wood of the windows and doors. This was the womb of the house, dark and crowded, but cosy.

  The receptionist started her welcome speech, offering me a brochure, and pointing the way to the courtyard café where I ‘might like to end my tour’. Not likely. I took it by my fingertips, careful not to make contact, and moved past the people watching a documentary on a small screen.

  Immediately, I was drawn to the Governor’s Library, and not because of the books. I could see her. The ghost of a maid wearing a black dress with layers of skirts and a white apron. She bustled around, dusting every surface. Humming quietly, quite happy in her work. A relieved breath eased from my lungs. I could do this. The smile that stretched my face felt foreign, but welcome in this public place.

  I worked my way back to the winding staircase that led to the art gallery. Yet another reason I was drawn to this place. The display of William Robinson’s works. He won the Archibald Prize two times. Twice! He was more of an expressionist than a realist. A misfit like me appreciated the individual interpretation of his views on life.

  I wandered through the bedrooms turned into art displays, until I reached the self-portrait of the artist with his brother, clad in opposing outfits. Comfy PJ’s versus knowledge and power. Both of them depicted with solemn expressions. The laugh bubbled up from my gut, escaping without my permission, just like the smile I’d been wearing before. It felt fucking awesome to let it out. Until I heard a deep laugh join the melody of mine.

  My tailbone throbbed at seeing him again. He was laughing at my shoes, not the painting. What’s so funny about my sneakers? I watched as his eyes travelled over me, the pupils growing larger despite the bright light streaming in the windows. My heart pounded, and my muscles tightened in response. I wanted to run before they reached my face, but I was too slow. He looked at me, rendering me speechless with his smile. He didn’t smile like that before. Given the circumstance of our past meeting, I probably would’ve slapped it off his face. Now, it’s an art work all on its own.

  My heart galloped along, out of control. Lord knows where it wanted to go, but it definitely felt like it wanted to leave my chest and leap into someone else’s. It was scaring the shit out of me. His smile faded a little and he took a step back, and said something about the artwork. I couldn’t answer. My vocal chords had checked out on me, apparently on board with the travel plans taking place inside my rib cage.

  His boots thumped against the floorboards as he retreated another step. He was looking at me strangely, continuing to prattle about the painting. I couldn’t figure out what he was thinking, but his feet spoke for him. Two times he backed away … Twice. I was used to it. I encouraged it. I couldn’t afford to let people in. But watching him stand there looking scruffy and dangerous … holy shit … he was sexy. I didn’t want him to back away. I wanted him to take a step closer. But those buckled, biker boots backed up, slicing a piece off my tough exterior as they went. With my vulnerable centre exposed, the second step cut even deeper. I couldn’t let it happen again. So I ran.

  That’s what I do. I’m good at it.

  I woke up all stiff and sweaty from sleeping on the blow-up mattress in Granny's living room. 4:15 a.m. The sun was about to enter stage left. After downing a couple of paracetamol, I threw on my running gear and headed out.

  The sky held a flotilla of steel wool, locking in the heat, and denying the dawn. The oppressive atmosphere matched my mood. This was the third time this month I’d been kicked out of my home. How many fucking parties does one person need to have? I’d refuse to leave, but there was no way I wanted to be there with a crowd of people. Especially her friends. I screwed up my nose and poked out my tongue in a mock dry retch. Flick knew it, too. That was why she did this.

  Wet leaves and small branches covered the footpath after the storm last night. I slowed my pace, worried I might slip on the decomposing carpet. The air felt like warm molasses. The end of something hovered close … I could sense it. The hairs on my arms transformed my skin into a pincushion. I fumbled with my phone, as if turning up the music could drown out fate. Looking around, I couldn’t see any signs of life. Not even a bird. I should be celebrating. Having a moment to myself was rare for me, but this felt … fucking creepy. My skin grew taut, my muscles tensed, as my eyes darted around on high alert. I half expected the big bad wolf to jump out at me. Debating whether I should forego the torture and turn back, I decided to suck it up and keep going.

  I turned a corner to run along the golf course that overlooked the river. My unsettled thoughts hurtled back to the man from Old Government House. The guy that broke my tailbone over a week ago. I admit, I haven't been able to get him out of my head since that mortifying display of ineptitude. He was connected to this sense of unease. I knew it somehow. It made me fight his pull with all my strength. I avoided the places where I’d seen him, and kept my eyes open in case I needed to run again. A neurotic attempt at maintaining my slippery control on my pathetic life.

  Breaking into my morbid thoughts, I spotted a flash of yellow and blue in my peripheral vision. “FUCK!” Hurling my body sideways, I narrowly missed falling into the bush and sliding down the river bank. I made my way back onto the path, accompanied by my little stalker.

  "Good morning. You look like crap," she said with an innocent smile.

  I will not acknowledge you.

  “My name is Letitia, by the way.”

  Please go the hell away, Letitia. My arms and legs fell back into a rhythm.

  "You know … I can tell my brother's really going to like you. He needs someone like you to get his head out of the clouds, and you need him to neutralise your acid tongue."

  Okay, that got my attention. My head twisted to glare at her. "Christ! This isn't some dating app, you know." Was she for real?

  I expected her to reply with a cheeky comment, but I was met with silence. Ah, crap. She looked like I’d cut her favourite dolly’s hair.

  "So … how did you die?"

  "What?! I'm not dead." The look of horror on her face sparked an attack of the guilts. Sometimes I could be horribly blunt and obnoxious. Wiping my hand across my forehead, I tried to formulate an apology. The sound of her laughter snapped my attention back to her. I swung my arm out, swiping right through the back of her head, my hand touching nothing but air. How unsatisfying.